heromuxfandomcom-20200216-history
Sean Ryan
|history= My name is Sean Ryan. I was a member of a SOCOM squad sent into Somalia on a black bag assassination mission just after the incident that inspired Black Hawk Down, only when my squad was cut off behind enemy lines, we were considered deniable assets. We were left to die. I'm the only one who survived long enough to become a slave. When my team was finally overwhelmed in close-quarters combat, I was knocked unconscious. Next thing I knew, I woke up chained to a Somali boy who was maybe fourteen years old, clearing away rubble from destroyed buildings and listening to gunshots crack and hiss in the distance. No gear. No support. No hope. I had a lot of time to think about how I ended up where I did. As a kid, I was a petty criminal. A thief, a runner for the Irish mob, and eventually a hired thug. I ran to the military for the same reason a lot of guys my age did. To avoid a conviction. It didn't take long for a SOCOM commander to scout me and pull me into special forces. I excelled, not only at basic skills like marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat, but at tactics and logistics as well. Thanks to a pile of recommendations, I was shunted into officers' school. Fast forward. By the late 90s, I'm the youngest lieutenant colonel in history and I'm leading a small, mobile strike force into hostile territory on a mission that "never happened". I've got two black belts and a Class A rating on every weapon currently in use by the US Armed Forces. I'm a killing machine. A leader of men who live to kill other men. By 2001, I'm also a slave. Civil war is an ugly, ugly thing. Francois Fenelon said that all wars are civil wars because all men are brothers. He was very goddamn right. While I was another person's possession, I saw things no man should bear witness to. Hunger and poverty and disease. Rape and riot and murder. The war in Somalia was glorious and terrible at the same time, like living through an action movie. My chain partner's name was Ghedi Abdikhani Erasto. Good kid. Helped me figure out indentured life. He taught me the language, how to move, how to think, how to stay alive. He was as surprised as I was that it all came so naturally to me. Like I was remembering rather than learning. Which makes sense, I guess. We were chained together night and day for almost two years. Then it happened. Poof. I was taking a break from filling a drinking trough for the goats when one of my 'benefactors' clubbed me from behind and shoved me to the ground. That's when my vision went red and my body started to shake. The next thing I knew I heard the other guy start to scream. At the same time, I felt my heart beating faster. Blood pumping in my veins. A pleasant sort of tingle, part exertion, part excitement. I blinked and realized I was standing over his body. I had one of his eyeballs in my hand and a mouthful of his throat. The coppery tang of blood was thick on my tongue. His friends were mad. So, so mad. Beat the crap clean out of me. I knew, though, that I had an ability that went beyond my military training. I knew things. I could look around and room and instantly realize what the most likely point of entry was for an attacker, wether he carried a sword or a shotgun. I saw images on my eyelids every time I tried to sleep. Myself swinging a katana. Myself loading a Brown Bess musket. Myself stabbing a man with a knife made from deer antler. Myself using a flamethrower to roast soldiers inside a WWI-era tank. Languages and cultures, too. Kanji. Hieroglyphs. Chariots. Plate mail and chain mail and ring mail and scale mail and it's still too much for me if I try to think about it all at once. It took some time for me to build up my confidence and my control, but I realized that I had lifetimes of knowledge and instinct locked away in my head, just waiting to be released. Khan was invaluable then. Always cheerful, always encouraging. When I used my newly discovered ability to disarm a guard and slit his throat, Khan cheered even louder than I did. Seven of us escaped and took off toward the coastline. Four of us made it. Me, Khan, Erat, and Azi. We'd been brothers in slavery, we remained brothers in freedom. Unfortunately, we had no money, no proper education, no papers and no prospects. We did have me. It wasn't hard to take over a small boat and sail it out of the harbor. We traded up from there. The next boat was larger and netted us weapons for our crew. And so on. And so on. In a matter of months, we'd moved up to speedboats and automatic guns. We mostly robbed other pirates. Funny thing is, most of those guys aren't keen on actually fighting. So we'd speed in, hop on the target ship, scare the shit out of everybody, and make off with the contents of the safe. Though the area wasn't exactly what I'd call a paradise, we did manage to snag the occasional yacht or luxury boat. Mmmm. Diamonds. And so we pillaged. We plundered. We profited. Everything seemed perfect for our twisted little family. Too perfect, of course. Not long after we'd all settled in, we had ourselves a little blunder. Gunship patrol. I managed to get myself onto one of the speeders and escape, but I'm the only one who made it. No, I don't want to talk about it. I had to get away. Far, far away. I was never very close to my parents, so I didn't go looking for them. I decided to run. This time to New York. I figured a fresh continent, a fresh start. Now I'm here. I'm the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold. I've been bad places, I've done bad things, but I'm trying to move on. Fortune? I've stolen and spent a bunch of those, thanks. Power? Already got that, thanks. Fame? Oh, no. No thanks. No thanks at all. Happiness? I suppose we'll have to wait and see. }} Category:OC Category:Anti-Hero Category:Unregistered Category:Character